Of Order Pads and Open Shirts
by KinoFille
Summary: A LorelaiLuke flufflet. Insert into R&R after "Luke can waltz!" but before the test run.


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**Disclaimer**: To paraphrase the immortal words of Sgt. Schultz, "I own nothing! Nothing!"

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**Author's Note:** So, this was inspired by an ongoing discussion over at TwoP about the way Season 1 Luke looked and dressed as compared to Luke in later seasons. Ever notice how he doesn't wear the open shirts any more? And the suggestive order-pad-in-the-jeans thing? Gone. My theory is that since S1, AS-P has been reigning in Sexy Luke until he and Lorelai start to get together--after all, would it be believable that Lorelai wouldn't notice Season 1, open-shirted, dirty order-pad-wearing Luke if he'd stayed that way for four seasons? Not bloody likely. So, anyway, now that Luke has become Confident!Romantic! Luke, I'm thinking it's time to bring back the full-on SexyLuke look. Thus, the basis for this fic.

As for the timeline, I'm thinking this takes place during "Raincoats and Recipes,"the day after Lorelai and Rory's "Luke can _waltz_" conversation and a few days before the test run.

A big shout-out to all the peeps at the TwoP Gilmore Girls/Luke thread, who provided the impetus for this story.

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Of Order Pads and Open Shirts

Okay, so, here were the things Lorelai knew for a fact:

First, that Luke had asked her to his sister's wedding.

Second, that Luke had danced with her at the wedding.

Third, that Luke had asked her to a movie when he walked her home after the wedding.

Good. Fine. Just the things she knew for sure, with no editorial embellishment. Just the facts. Very Sergeant Joe Friday. Jack Webb would be totally proud.

But facts were one thing; the whole editorial-embellishment-issue was another matter altogether. Like, what had Luke been thinking when he asked her to the wedding? She'd been a little hazy, having just spent the night with Sookie and Jackson and Michel and the zucchini, but surely her We're Crossing That Line Radar would have pinged like crazy if Luke had been asking her out on a date, wouldn't it? But he _had_ been all cute and stammer-y when she'd said yes—he'd even almost walked right into his truck. And had he _really_ plucked a straw from her hair?

And the dance? In all the years they'd known each other, she'd never have guessed that Luke could dance, especially not in that way that said 'the Southern Baptists were right all along—dancing _is_ a prelude to sin and wantonness.' She'd certainly never pegged him for a Waltz Guy.

Then again, she'd never pegged him for a Movie Guy, either. And there he'd stood, practically offering to change his whole existential identity just for her. Okay, maybe it wasn't on the scale of John Travolta trying out for all those school sports teams just to get back on Olivia Newton-John's good side, but still.

What she really needed was to talk to Rory—oh, wait. She'd already done that. But Rory had been all, 'when you're with Luke, you are _with_ Luke,' and basically let her know that dating Luke would rip a hole in the fabric of the space-time continuum, and had been absolutely no help. Stupid useless Ivy League education.

So, now, here she was, sitting in the diner (nothing at all unusual about that) after closing (still completely within normal operating procedures) and staring at Luke (okay, _that_ was a little out-of-the-ordinary), trying to figure out when she'd entered this bizarro world where she knocked things off tables and looked at grumpy, razor-deficient diner owners like they were the reincarnation of Viggo Mortensen. (Not that Viggo Mortensen was dead, but anyway . . .)

Maybe things had started going all Outer Limits when Luke had walked her home after the wedding. They'd had this . . . 'moment,' and she and Luke just did not have 'moments.'

Well, except for that time when they were picking out paint samples for the diner. That was kind of a moment.

Then there was the time he made her the chuppa for The Wedding that Wasn't To Be. (Had she really been going to marry _Max??_). Yeah, that probably qualified as a moment.

And, of course, there was the time he fixed her shoe at the dance marathon . . .

And the time they broke those annoying church bells . . .

She shoved the last bite of her pie into her mouth as if to teach it who was boss, then slammed her fork down to drive the point home. Okay, it was time to get a grip. She was a grown woman with a college-age daughter and a business of her own opening in four days, and the last thing she needed was to be staring at Luke like she was Marcia Brady and he was that Doug whateverhisnamewas (especially since Doug whateverhisnamewas dumped Marcia right after Peter and Bobby broke her nose with that stupid football).

But here she was, still staring. Trying to figure out what was different.

Well, Luke was certainly different. Not as different as Michael Jackson circa 2004 was from Michael Jackson circa 1982_,_ but more different than post-SlimFast Whoopi was from pre-SlimFast Whoopi (like anyone could even tell a difference under all those clothes she wore). It wasn't anything she could put her finger on, just something that was there. He hadn't griped about her food choices or her coffee habit in days, but it was more than that. It was in the tone of his voice when he talked to her, and in his eyes when he looked at her. Yesterday, she could have sworn his eyes had actually _twinkled_ at her. And Luke? So not a twinkler. Not even a gleamer.

Tonight it was even more confusing, though, because there was something different about him. That is, there was something more different than what was already different about him from the way he was before things got different. (God, no wonder Rory had gotten annoyed with her yesterday).

She looked at him again (okay, _still_) as he went about his little closing-the-diner routine, thinking that maybe if she took a mental Luke inventory she'd be able to figure out what was going on and she'd stop hyperventilating and running into stuff.

Okay, starting from the top. Blue baseball cap? Check. Worn backwards as always? Check. (Had he really been wearing the same hat since she'd given it to him four years ago? She couldn't decide whether that was really sweet or really gross.).

And the stubble was still there, in all its scruffy glory. If she didn't already have a million other reasons to think Nicole was an idiot, the fact that she'd always made Luke shave would have been enough. Didn't Nicole know how sexy that disheveled, I'm-too-manly-to-take-time-for-wussy-stuff-like-shaving look was? It was so rough, and masculine, and . . .

Uh, yeah. Moving right along.

The shirt was . . .Well, the shirt wasn't different, just one she hadn't seen a while. It was that soft, faded denim one he used to wear all the time. It looked all worn, and comfortable, and—

Good godamighty Mr. Mirkle! She could see his chest!

Well, she couldn't literally see his chest, since he was wearing a t-shirt under the denim. But the denim was all . . ._unbuttoned._ When was the last time Luke had worn his shirt unbuttoned like that?

Okay, time to stop putting 'Luke' and 'unbuttoned' in the same sentence.

Then, as if her eyes had a dirty, dirty mind of their own (not that eyes have minds, but you get the idea), they drifted downward.

To his order pad.

Which was stuck in the waistband of his jeans.

Right in the _middle_ of the waistband of his jeans.

Drawing her eyes down to his . . .

Oh, dear.

Lorelai let out a small, involuntary sound that some anthropologist somewhere would probably identify as the traditional mating signal of some tribe in Papua New Guinea. Luke just glanced up from where he was cleaning the counter and gave her one of those looks he seemed to save for when she was making even less sense than usual and he couldn't be bothered to provide an actual verbal response to her craziness.

Suddenly, the ViewMaster clicked into place and it all became clear. Luke had taken her to a wedding. And danced with her. And asked her to a movie. And now he was dressing in this sexy, manly way she hadn't seen since before Max and Rachel and Christopher and Rory's accident and Nicole and Jason. And she was . . .

She was . . .

Deep in Lorelai's subconscious, the need to get the hell out of the diner and go home to make a Dating Luke pro/con list battled with the need to pole vault over the counter and jump Luke's bones. After a minute, the need to leave grabbed the need to jump Luke and slammed it to the mat. In one swift, graceful movement, Lorelai downed the last of her coffee, picked up her purse, and stood up to leave.

At least, it would have been a smooth, graceful movement if she hadn't managed to tip over her coffee cup. And drop her purse on the floor. And knock over her chair.

In a flash, Luke was standing over her with a look that somehow managed to combine amusement and concern all at once. "Geez, are you okay?"

Lorelai looked up to answer, but he was standing so _close_. Closer than he usually did. Not as close as he had been when they were dancing, but close enough for her to remember tingle she'd felt when she realized that Luke. Can. W_altz._

Oh, and p.s.? Rory was absolutely right about that whole 'I'm surprised I still have my clothes on' thing.

She was trying desperately to make the brain bone connect to the talking bone (_dirty!)_, but the phrase 'nice, full lips' just kept getting in the way. God, how had she never noticed his lips before? Or more truthfully, how had she managed to pretend she hadn't noticed them all these years?

Finally, from somewhere inside, and totally without her consultation or permission, the words popped out.

"Are we dating?"

Okay, that was so not what she'd been expecting to say.

Apparently, it wasn't what Luke had been expecting to hear, either. He looked a little startled for a minute, as well he should in the face of such a display of verbal grace and subtlety. But then he did this slow half-smile thing, and Lorelai's I Gotta Get out of Here/I Want to Jump Him internal battle went into Round 2.

"Do you _want_ to be dating?" he asked. And when the _hell_ did his voice get all gravelly and sexy?

Lorelai reached out and ran a hand over Luke's chest (well, not actually over his _chest_, since he was wearing a t-shirt . . .). In that moment, somewhere inside her, I Want to Jump Him made a stunning comeback, thoroughly and forever kicking I Gotta Get out of Here's ass.

"You hate dating," she breathed in pretty good sexy voice of her own. She leaned her face closer to his.

"Oh, yeah," he whispered, just before his lips captured hers, "I forgot."

Forget waltzing. Wait till Rory found out that Luke can _kiss._

He was so good he didn't even get distracted by the sound of her coffee cup crashing to the floor.


End file.
